The Boy Who Knew Too Much
by Lady Death of Nevada
Summary: Based off of the MIKA album The Boy Who Knew Too Much, the first chapter being We Are Golden. Starts with a teen flashback and goes to post Reichenbach. Johnlock.
1. Chapter 1: We Are Golden

**John POV:**

"John!" I turned to see Ernie run up to me, "Man, congrats!" He pulled off my cap and ruffled the hair that sat underneath. I chuckled,

"Stop it, mate, it's not a big deal," I tried to push him off of me, but he ignored my words, spinning the cap around by its tassel.

"What are you talking about? Of course it's a big deal, Mr. Graduate! You're through with this hellhole we call school, how can you not be happy?" I grabbed my cap back from him and placed it back on my head,

"Because, I've still got college and who knows how many years of med school!" I reminded him. He laughed.

"Oh right. Mr. Graduate wants to be Dr. Graduate." He teased.

"No. Dr. Watson, however, would be nice," He chuckled, pulling out two fags, one of which he promptly lit and stuck in his mouth, the other he held out to me. I accepted it, lighting it up and puffing on it. The smoke wafted from my open mouth, and though it tasted like pure shit, it was soothing, in an odd way.

"That all you wanna do in life?" He asked. I shrugged, mouth occupied. He pulled his fag away from his face, looking at me seriously, "Really. You don't have some other prospects? Ya don't wanna get married, settle down or anything?"

I pulled out my own fag so as to properly respond, "I dunno. Maybe. I guess I wanna find a pretty lady to call my own, or something like that. Maybe…travel. I never really thought about anything past med school."

"John! It's time!" Harry called to me from across the sports field of St. Bart's, where she stood with the car.

"Where you guys going? Vacation?" Ernie inquired. I laughed sourly.

"I wish. No, we're going to my Gran's house. She's nearing the end so we're spending the summer with her. Mum says it's a good medical opportunity for me, but…" I shrugged.

"I get it," He sighed with me, "Well you better go, then," He said after a moment.

"Yeah. Have a nice summer, Ern," I called as I began to run to my sister.

"Keep in touch?" He called back,

"'Course!" I waved as I got into the minivan and drove off, leaving that life behind forever.

**Sherlock POV:**

"Shouldn't you be with your friends?" An, unfortunately, familiar voice asked calmly as it approached.

"Shouldn't you know by now that I don't have friends, Mycroft?" I responded, a bit fed up with my brother.

"Fine then. Shouldn't you be with teachers, relatives, anyone?" He persisted.

"I'd rather be alone," I sighed, hoping he took this as a sign for him to sod off. However, I was nowhere near that lucky. He came closer, sitting under the tree with me, and suddenly the sweet stench of smoky tar reached my nostrils.

"Not going to offer me one, are you, brother?" I nearly spat at him.

"I just figured you wouldn't want one," I peeked an eye open to see a fag held in front of my eyes. I grabbed it, reaching into my pocket for some matches, and lit at as quickly as possible. I took a long drag from the stick of tobacco, held it, and let it out in a long sigh. Heavenly.

"So, have you thought about what you're going to do?" I glanced over at my brother in his sharp suit, taking puffs from his own fag and relaxing against the tree.

"What do you mean?" I ventured.

"Well, I mean, now that you're out of school, have you thought of what you want to do? You know, maybe go to college, university, get a job." There was a hilarious amount of emphasis on the last option. I chuckled as I took another breath in, inhaling the tangy, sweet smoke.

"I'm not you, Mycroft. I'm not going to force myself to do something as tedious as continue my studies just to please Mummy," I tapped lightly on the end of the fag, ridding it of its ashes.

"Are you implying that you're too smart for college?" Mycroft asked in a bored tone. He knew the answer.

"No. I'm saying it straightforwardly. I'm too smart to sit in a classroom all day just to be taught things that either don't matter or have already been learnt," He laughed airily.

"You should stop thinking like that, Sherlock, you'll get too caught up in yourself and become so vain that no one will want to have anything to do with you," I grinned.

"Good. I already said, I'd rather be alone," Mycroft was suspiciously quiet after that. I listened in serenity to the wind blowing through the leaves of the tree I leant against and to the sound of smoke escaping both my brother's and my own mouths.

"Well then, a job? Have you thought about what you want to be?" I suppressed laughter at this. Of course I had. I was quiet, reviewing the few things I'd thought of, "You know you can't really be a pirate, right?" He added.

"Of course I know that, Mycroft. I don't really know what I want to be. But I know that I want to be the first at whatever I'm going to do."

"Good luck with that. It seems like every single idea's been thought of."

"Don't worry. I'll be able to come up with something," Mycroft stood up, dropping his fag to the ground and rubbing it out with the toe of his shoe as he patted the dirt from the seat of his expensive, tailored suit. He offered me a hand, which I ignored, lifting myself of the ground and letting my own fag experience the same fate that Mycroft's had.

"Come on, brother, it's time to go," And he began his walk back to the car where our Mummy stood. I looked over the horizon and watched all of the idiots from my school chatting mindlessly. Suddenly, a feeling of joy washed over me at the thought that I'd never have to see any of these idiots again. 'Good riddance,' I thought to myself as I followed Mycroft to the car.

12 YEARS LATER

**3****rd**** POV**

John Watson laughed with vigor at what his flat mate, Sherlock Holmes, had just said, causing Sherlock to giggle himself.

"It sounds like you had quite the childhood," John coughed out between laughs.

"Yes. Quite the dull childhood, though I'm happy you find it amusing," Sherlock responded, smiling.

"That you got sent to the headmaster's office for correcting the school's History books? It's hilarious! Though not at all surprising," Sherlock's face twisted into a quizzical expression at this,

"What do you mean, 'Not at all surprising'?" He asked.

"That you've always been such a showoff!" John laughed harder as Sherlock frowned at this.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That you're a showoff, Sherlock," John replied.

"It's not my fault that I was born so much smarter than everyone else and choose to use these smarts so often," Sherlock tried to refute, but just got John laughing harder, "Besides, when you're in school, everybody always looks down on you as if you know nothing. I figured, since I was stuck there anyways, I'd have a little fun and just prove them wrong," John nodded in agreement as his laughter began to let up.

"I know what you mean," He sighed as he pushed himself off of the sofa and began to head to the stairs of their flat, "I'm gonna head to bed now. Try and sleep for once. Night," He called as he began his ascent to his room. Sherlock turned his head, looking after John as he climbed said stairs.

"Good night," He bid his friend as he relaxed against the couch, staring up at the ceiling and thinking, as he would continue to do all night and into the hours of the morning.


	2. Chapter 2: Blame It On The Girls

"Ugh," John walked through the entrance of their flat, slamming the door shut behind him as he threw his jacket onto the back of the sofa, sitting down and putting his face in his hands as he groaned again in frustrated dismay. He brought with him the stench of wine, filling the flat with it. There was no noise in 221B except for the steady clicking of keyboard keys and the heavy sighs of Dr. John Watson. His friend, who'd been sitting there all along, suddenly looked up from his laptop.

"You didn't get the milk, did you?" He asked placidly. John shot him a death glare before dropping his face back into his palms and digging the heel of his hand into his eyes in exhaustion. Silence again.

"Oh! I'm supposed to ask you what's wrong, aren't I?" Sherlock finally realized, "Fine then, what's wrong?"

"Well maybe if you'd known why I was out in the first place, you'd know," John bitterly replied to his flatmate.

"The store was out of milk, wasn't-"

"My date was a disaster!" The doctor cried out in annoyance, looking at his friend as if he were the most idiotic person in the world. Sherlock was quiet as he processed this. Then, finally,

"Which one was it this time?" A pillow was suddenly flying through the air, and it hit Sherlock square in the face, "Sorry, was that not the right thing to say?" John huffed in exasperation, pushing himself up and dragging himself into the kitchen. Sherlock cursed at himself under his breath before standing and moving to sit at the kitchen table, next to where John stood, "What happened this time?" He sighed.

"I don't even know. One minute we were sitting there laughing and then the next she was throwing wine in my face and storming off." He opened up the cupboard to grab a cup before slamming it shut in surprise, "Sherlock, why is there a dead monkey carcass in our cupboard?"

"It's for an experiment. I got bored," John shook his head, grabbing a clean cup and a kettle from the dishwasher, "John, you should stop dating," Sherlock finally said. John spun around, glaring at him angrily with wide eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"You should stop dating. In case you haven't noticed, you haven't had a very good track record, and every girl you go out with has broken up with y-" He was stopped by John throwing a cup of cold water in his face. He spit out the bit that had wound up in his mouth and shook his head, spraying water around the room as a dog would.

"Are you saying that I shouldn't date anymore because girls don't like me!?" The doctor was fuming. Sherlock's eyes widened as he stood up, knocking over his chair as he quickly walked towards John, trying to fix things.

"No! Not at all! It's just whenever a date goes wrong you always blame it on the girl, or her parents, or your parents, or the waiter, or some past girlfriend, and then you come home and get drunk to get over it. Well, maybe it isn't any of them. Maybe it's you. Not that you're scaring off girls!" He added quickly when it looked like John was about to slap him, "It's just that…maybe you aren't meant to settle down and have a relationship. You always travel, after all, and you're always in danger. Maybe you just aren't meant to be in a relationship," John huffed, sitting down in one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

"So what? Are you saying that I'll just grow old and lonely and no one will ever love me?" He asked, downcast.

"No! It's just…maybe you aren't meant for any of that now. You should just enjoy life! You don't have to go chasing after girls to have a good life. I think that chasing after crimes is a much more fun way to spend a lifetime, wouldn't you agree?" John chuckled, smiling for the first time that night.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right," He pushed himself up, going back to the kettle and filling it with water, "You want some?" He asked his flatmate.

"Sure," Sherlock smiled, content that he'd been able to brighten up John's spirits. There was a sudden buzzing in Sherlock's pocket, soft enough so that John couldn't hear but strong enough so that Sherlock could feel it. He pulled out his phone, unlocking it to see the message.

_I'm waiting._

_ -M_

Sherlock swallowed, looking up at John as he watched the kettle boil, waiting patiently. He looked back at his phone, contemplating, before standing up and pushing his chair into the table. John turned around to see Sherlock, and their eyes met. But Sherlock was careful. He hid the pain from his eyes.

"Everything all right?" John inquired.

"Yes, fine. I just figured that we'd need some milk for the tea," He kept standing there, reluctant to move. John's eyes widened in shock,

"You mean you're going to go get milk?" Sherlock laughed, smiling at John,

"Yes. Don't act so surprised," He took in John's face, before turning and grabbing his scarf, pulling it tight around his throat. He then slipped on his coat.

"Alright then. And while you're out, you might as well pick up some eggs," John called to him as he stood at the door, ready to leave, with a sad look on his face that he hid from his friend. He looked up and back at John, thinking. This would be the last time he'd see John for a very long time, and he knew it. He kept staring longingly at his flatmate, despair painted plain on his face. It disappeared instantly as John looked back, seeing Sherlock still in the doorway.

"Yes?" There was silence as Sherlock contemplated, finally opening up his mouth, but no words came out. He cleared his throat, once more cursing himself in his mind, and spoke,

"No. Goodbye, John," John looked a bit surprised at how formal Sherlock was being.

"Alright then. Bye, Sherlock," He then turned, slowly making his way down the stairs to where his fate lie, no matter how awful it may be, "Don't forget the eggs!" John called to him. Sherlock took a deep breath, trying his hardest to compose himself.

"I'll try not to,"


	3. Chapter 3: Rain

There are more people than I would've thought there would be, some here to cry over his grave and some to spit on it. I'm becoming drenched in the usual London downpour, clenching my fists as the preacher told the story of Sherlock's life. Most of his tale is lies, but then who really knew the real Sherlock? My anger would've been greatly increased at the fact that I'd forgotten my umbrella, but the rain was actually helping me at this point; it dripped down my face, melting and blending together with my salty tears. The modest, black coffin sat next to the preacher, filled with the remains of him. Of-

"John?" Mrs. Hudson repeated my name, pushing me a bit. I snapped out of it.

"Yes?" She made a nod towards the podium, where the preacher was no longer standing. It was my turn. I walked as steadily as possible towards the podium, shakily taking my damp paper out of my pocket. The ink ran down the page, mixing into a wet mess. I crumpled it back into my pocket and looked up at the crowd. Mrs. Hudson was in the front row, right next to the empty seat that was mine. Next to that was Mycroft and his mother, as well as Lestrade and Molly, who was a sobbing mess, "Sherlock Holmes-" my voice cracked, a rough mess from my silent crying. I cleared my throat and tried to ignore the worried looks on everybody's faces.

"Sherlock Holmes was a great man. He was very…smart. And very clever. He was one of- no, he _was_ the best mean that I have ever met and it's a shame that the world had to lose him so soon," And I stopped. Everybody in the crowd looked at me imploringly, as if they expected that after working with him so intimately and spending so much time with him that I'd have more to say. I did have more to say, tons in fact. But I wasn't going to just spill my heart out in front of all of these people, "Sherlock Holmes, may you rest in peace and continue to solve mysteries in the afterlife," I stepped down, avoiding the gaping stares, and walked back to my seat.

~O~o~O~

The rain poured down onto the Earth harder as the time went by. The crowd began to clear out until the only people left were Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, his mother, and I.

"I think Mummy and I will be off now," Mycroft announced, leading his mother away. Her face was red and her makeup was running down her face in little streams down her cheeks. As they walked off, Mycroft stopped, looking me in the eyes, "Are you sure you're okay?" He looked genuinely worried. I just smiled.

"I'm fine. Don't worry about me. Now get your mum out of this rain." He looked me over once more before saying his farewells and leading his mother to their car. I watched them walk off, my thoughts trailing away. I knew he knew I was lying. I kept watching, even after they'd been lost from sight. The last thing I wanted was to have to turn around and look at that black slab with his name on it. The slab that marked…that marked…

"John, I'll let you have a bit of time alone with…" She didn't finish her sentence; "I'm soaked to the bone so I'm going to go wait in the car for you,"

"Okay. I won't be long," She put her hand consolingly on my shoulder before wandering off towards the car. I finally had to do it, I realized. I closed my eyes, shutting them tight. I didn't want to. I turned and begrudgingly forced myself to open my eyes.

And there it was. What happened from there on was a blur. I was falling to the ground, my tears coming quicker and quicker until I was choking on them and sobbing so hard that I could barely breath. I felt like screaming, wailing in pain and agony and anger, but nothing would come out. So many things were racing through my head.

All I wanted was to live an ordinary life with an ordinary flatmate so that I could live in London, the city I love. But no. That damned Sherlock Holmes had to come along and fuck it all up. He twisted my heart and made my breath stop until it was his turn for his breath to stop. He made me a part of his life and even worse, he worked himself into my life; no he **made** himself my life. And now he's gone. He's gone and he's left me with all of these bloody feelings for him that don't even matter because he's gone and he's never coming back.

"You arse. You fucking arse! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!? MAKE YOURSELF A PART OF MY LIFE AND THEN JUST LEAVE!? WHY HAVE YOU LEFT ME HERE TO SUFFER WHILE YOU JUST LAY THERE UNDER THE GROUND, PAINLESS? WHY DID YOU TRY SO HARD TO MAKE ME FEEL SO MUCH PAIN!?" I screamed until my voice gave out. I couldn't control myself. I convulsed on the ground in pain from the endless sobs and screams.

~O~o~O~

When I woke up I was laying on the sofa with no idea as to how I got here. I looked up but instantly regretted it when my head began to throb in pain. I laid back down, staring at the ceiling and trying to get reacquainted with my surroundings. I realized I was soaking wet, with a thin blanket over me. I delicately lifted a hand to my head and felt my damp hair. I heard some footsteps approaching me, and I smiled. 'Sherlock must've-'. My smiled disappeared. 'Oh right-'. I looked over and saw Mrs. Hudson coming over to me.

"Oh good, you're awake. Here, I brought you something to help with your headache, a nice cuppa to warm you up, and some warm, dry clothes for you to change into." She set down a tray with some Tylenol, water, tea, and dry clothes.

"Thank you so much, Mrs. Hudson. You're brilliant, really." She smiled.

"I'll leave you be. If you need anything, just call for me. I'll be downstairs." And she began to walk away.

"Thank you." I said once more, sitting up and watching her go. I grabbed the pills and swallowed them down with the water. I paused, taking a deep breath. I stared out the window, listening to the steady downpour of rain hitting the flat. It was calming, almost therapeutic. My last memories before being here were returning; I remembered the funeral, the grave, the tears. I sighed. There were too many thoughts going through my head to focus on any one, so I took the warm cup of tea in my hands, sipping it slowly. As it dripped down my throat, the warmth from the tea spread through my body.

I sat, sipping, until I'd finished the cup. I grabbed the clothing and pulled them on, warming me further. I walked to the bathroom, taking my damp clothes and setting them on the towel rack to dry out. I was so exhausted; all I wanted to do was sleep. I wandered out of the bathroom and to wherever it was my feet were taking me. I looked up through tired eyes to see that I was in Sherlock's room. I looked around and my eyes fell onto his coat. It had been returned to us after he'd been taken away to the hospital and announced…the point being that it was here now. I took it in my hands; it was cold and warm and wonderful and awful all at once. I brought it up to my nose, breathing in the smell of him. Now that: that was indeed wonderful. I took another deep breath, letting his aroma fill my lungs.

He's never coming back.

It hit me out of nowhere, like lightning, like a passing thought. But it hit me hard. I felt my knees go weak, my vision blurry. I backed up, falling onto the bed, and curling up into his sheets. They also smelt of him. I clenched his coat tightly, as if it was the only thing holding me to the earth. I felt the tears coming, raining down my face. I fell into sleep with only one thought in my head.

'I miss you so much, Sherlock,'

~O~o~O~

**Hey guys! Sorry I haven't updated in a while, I've had a lot of shit going on in my life. Which brings me to my point. I haven't really been able to write as much recently due to depression, low self-esteem, and school. Since summer is approaching, I hope to be able to update more frequently, but I'm sorry to say that I can't** **promise you anything. Thanks to those who have decided to tag along for the journey so far. It really means a lot to me. I'll try and get another chapter out soon. Thanks! **


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